


Gaude Mihi

by Arithanas



Category: The Borgias (2011)
Genre: Anal Sex, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Season/Series 02, Sex Toys, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-24
Updated: 2012-05-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 16:24:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,095
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/813583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arithanas/pseuds/Arithanas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written anonymously in reply to this prompt left in <a href="http://borgiaskink.livejournal.com/">The Borgias Kink Meme</a></p><p>Cesare/Micheletto/Machiavelli, toys, threesome<br/>What if Micheletto find a boy with adult toys in the soon-to-be Bonfire of Vanities?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Gaude Mihi

**Author's Note:**

> I suppose you meant “box”, dear OP :).

Machiavelli was distraught after that little scene in front of the Cathedral, it was in plain view and Cesare would like to have a way to make him recover his caustic wry; almost everything could be better than that concern over his really well stocked library. Usually, in these situations Cesare recurred to his other snarky acquaintance, but Micheletto was sat and slouched in one corner, in complete silence. Savonarola really was taking his toll in this little mission. That could make him a worthy opponent if he wasn't a pain in Cesare's ass; one he wanted to get rid double quick.  
  
"Micheletto, wine!" Cesare said, just to have something to do.  
  
Micheletto raised his ass and went to the kitchen, a place which he knew well from all this time as guests of Machiavelli.  
  
“Maybe we must curtail our consumption,” Machiavelli kept his paces in front of the balcony; one could hear his thoughts churning inside that head. “The more Savonarola bleats, the less time will we have to refill our cellar.”  
  
"Wine is vanity, none of Savonarola's zealots will touch it," Cesare said, poking Machiavelli into a rant against the Dominican's disquisitions. "If there is a bottle in Florence, apart from consecrated wine, we can rely on Micheletto to quench our thirst."  
  
"I'm convinced of the efficiency of your friend, Cardinal Borgia," Machiavelli said, his back against the wall. "We could really use his special talents if it wasn't ..."  
  
Cesare heaved a weary sigh: "Because the Holy See doesn’t want to grant him the martyrdom. I know, I know..."  
  
Cesare decided to let him alone; the only idea in his mind was to send Micheletto and his cheese cutter to deal with Savonarola, but he couldn't breathe a word about it because that was exactly what Micheletto was musing to do the last weeks. This whole Florentine expedition was wearing their nerves thin.  
  
Micheletto came with a couple of fine glasses; his posture was straight, his arms close to his body. Cesare remembered that was the way he was walking when he meet him the first time. Some days he longed for those days of physical struggle when the stress mounted to his head.

Those were good times.  
  
Cesare took the glass and, reluctantly, Machiavelli took his too. Micheletto seemed a little too relieved to left them with their awkward silence, Cesare wondered if his henchman was more used to this tense waiting because he dealt with death on daily basis. They sipped their drinks in the general atmosphere of impotent despondency while the Bonfire of Vanities lighted up the Florentine night like the civilization twilight.  
  
“It seems that we are surrounded by the aroma of savagery,” Cesare said bitterly.  
  
“We are surrounded by the aroma of vinegar and oil,” Machiavelli said hoarsely, “Your Micheletto could be quiet, but I reckon he is quite adept to build rapport with whatever that he thinks necessary. Like my cookery, to name one example.”  
  
"What are you doing, Micheletto?" Cesare asked immediately. There was thunder in his voice for he was vexed by his assassin and the liberties he took.  
  
"Reclaiming a little vanity, Your Eminence," Micheletto replied, completely unfazed by his tone.  
  
“Oh, this could be more amusing than this barbarity disguised of holy fervor!” Machiavelli quipped, but it wasn't clear if he referred to Micheletto's vanity or to the promised thrashing in Cesare's voice.

Cesare smirked and entered the room; at least he could give his host a little amusement. Inside, among the beautiful furniture of Machiavelli's palace, Micheletto had found a nook, a place where he could being moody at ease, Cesare had to admit his henchman had a wonderfully developed sense of strategy: that spot had direct view both to the door and the balcony, if he lean forward he could have enough light to work, leaning back he could have darkness and the comfort of the bundled tapestry for a quick nap or to ponder some grim musings. Come to think, that could be the secret of Micheletto's _sprezzatura_.  
  
Right now, he was sat with his legs crossed, by his right side a battered wood box in which an assortment of rounded trinkets waited for his attention, in front of him a towel and a couple of bottles, his hands were busy polishing something that Cesare mistook for a bauble but the finial of that object bore an unsettling resemblance with something the Cardinal kept inside his leather trousers. Machiavelli scoffed at that sight with a short snort.  
  
"That's hardly _a little vanity_ , my friend," Machiavelli said extending his hand with the implicit order to hand it over. "Rescued from the bonfire?"  
  
Micheletto nodded and hand the object over with the same gesture a courtier would hand a sword to his liege. Cesare had time to see it as Machiavelli took it; its girth was almost too wide to be surrounded by Machiavelli's hand. It was ivory and its surface was covered by small bumps.  
  
“What’s that, Micheletto?” Cardinal Borgia asked, intrigued by Machiavelli obvious appreciation of the object.  
  
“A _diletto_ ,” the silent assassin was selecting diligently a new object to clean with vinegar and a cloth. He gave them a quick glance to check and a slightly mocking smile. "Something to make do on lonely nights, Your Eminence."  
  
"Your friend here is a _connoisseur_ , it seems he rescue a piece of history and culture from the fires of Savonarola."  
  
"Had a good teacher," Micheletto interrupted with an arched brow, his right hand polishing another wooden object that rested against his belly with whimsical abandon. Cesar found the image strangely arousing in its raunchiness.  
  
"He's also a little avid in his goals," Machiavelli said with a good natured smile, the stung was not unnoticed but was received with good will. "I fear that this object cannot be properly dunked in the desired gap."  
  
"I had had bigger."  
  
"Really? Then I must count you in the number of the greatest _connoisseurs_. Here is your _godemichet_ , my friend."  
  
"What do you called it?"  
  
"My friend," Machiavelli replied and smiled at Micheletto whose hand gripped the object at the finial.  
  
They stay a couple of heartbeats there, joined by the strange trinket, a small smile lingering on their lips. Cesare noticed there was a spark since Machiavelli, a rather persnickety person when language is concerned, obviously missed the pronoun.  
  
"Not Micheletto, that object!" Cesare insisted when Micheletto's thumb started to rub the head with mischievous delight.

“I called it a _godemichet_ ,” Machiavelli replied, but his hand didn't let go the object, although he should have noticed the annoyance in Cesare's voice. "It is obviously a Gallic handicraft. They are the best craftsmen for this kind of commodities since the Greeks stopped producing their _olisbos_.” At Cesare's lost expression, Machiavelli cracked a wry smile, "I kept on forgetting you came from a Catalan family. Does the word _godomacil_ ring a bell to you?"  
  
"He is lucky with women of little imagination," Micheletto commented, his hands never stopped cleaning his new treasures.  
  
"Oh... Then, should we show him how this tools are used?"  
  
Micheletto raised his eyes toward Cesare, big blue puppy eyes... In all likeness, Micheletto wasn't even aware he tried to beg for a pleasure he wanted so much it showed.  
  
"I must admit I'm curious."  
  
"Intellectual curiosity it's a healthy feeling," Machiavelli concurred, pulling the dildo from the hand of the assassin. “And I'm curious to know if we can fit this siege machine in this red-head back passage."  
  
Micheletto made the most of that pull and was soon in his feet. The wooden dildo went tumbling in the floor until it stopped next to Cesare's boots.  
  
“Are you curious too, Micheletto?” Cardinal Borgia asked while Micheletto get rid of his trousers and Machiavelli grabbed the oil.  
  
“No, Your Eminence,” his clothes were scattered around his feet, “I’m just horny.”  
  
"Keep the shirt on," Cesare commanded once he noticed Machiavelli was clearing a credenza for the experiment. Moreover, Micheletto's scars were only his.  
  
Machiavelli was waiting next to a polished dark table. Micheletto bent over its surface but it was a little high for his height, he tiptoed, but he was resourceful and hiked his left knee to achieve a little balance.  
  
"As I suspected: a real ginger-haired one," Machiavelli said when he noticed the red fuzz on Micheletto's backside.  
  
Cesare guffawed when he heard those words, then he dragged a chair and got comfortable to see the spectacle.  
  
"It's a nice battleground," Machiavelli said, fondling with slick hands Micheletto's ass, his fingers petted the cleft. "But, a little tight for a real _connoisseur_."  
  
Micheletto only grunted appreciatively when those long fingers poked their way into his hole; his own fingers gripped the edge, his chest slide over the surface. Cesare gulped at the scene, maybe he had been too engrossed in his troubles to remember Micheletto was a sensual beast and a nice view when aroused. Machiavelli let the oil run through the back of his hand to the tight rim he was fondling.  
  
"Easy with the oil," Cesare admonished from his place, "Micheletto likes his rough sensations."  
  
"Perhaps you could bring Your Eminence here and ascertain the tightening of these tucks," Machiavelli invited handing him the oil bottle.  
  
Cesare smiled and rose. No one but him knew how to stretch that girdle.

Micheletto whimpered when he felt the invasion of a couple of strong, familiar fingers, but he shifted his haunches to make some space. Cesare noticed it had been a while since he had his due attention.  
  
"Come on, Micheletto," Cesare encouraged him, "Pucker up!"  
  
"I think the good Micheletto has practice in kissing the Cardinal ring,” said Machiavelli, his fingers seemed to be looking for something inside the redhead, "Although not in the most orthodox way..."  
  
Cesare noticed he failed to remove his ring and was about to make a wry comment when Micheletto groaned and pushed his hips to meet their fingers. Micheletto had his elbows tucked beneath his body and his back was shaking at the sensations of that rough stretching.  
  
“He’s ready,” both said at the same time, enthralled by Micheletto's prurience.  
  
Cesare gave Machiavelli space but he didn't went too far, he used his both hands at Micheletto's buttocks and open them wide; his curiosity was not feigned. Machiavelli nudged the soft rounded head of the fake member against the loose ring and gave it a little push. Micheletto grunted, his body tensed bellows Cesare's body but he bore down against the invasion with his breath was ragged that denounced his exertion.  
  
“Does it hurt?” Cesare asked, patting his rump with affectionate care.  
  
“Yes...” Micheletto gasped, “Hurts so good...”  
  
"Oh, God, I can hardly believe it..." Machiavelli said, his hands were still pushing the object steadily inside Micheletto who did his best to keep still and take it all, "He really can handle it."  
  
Cesare was certain that if Micheletto had breath to spare he would beg for more, but this little stunt was demanding his whole concentration. His breath was ragged but when the whole head passed his rim Micheletto moaned his pleasure, stretching his arms, arching his spine and pushing Cesare out of his observation post. The Cardinal decided to attend the other end of this wanton assassin, the rest of operation had no interest for him.  
  
"So, Micheletto,” Cesare asked, petting his head, “is it good?"  
  
"Very," he gasped and writhed when another half inch went inside him, "Full!"  
  
"You should see your butt," Cesare whispered in his ear, "I have a good idea of how my cock fit in your hole," Micheletto whimpered under the double attack, "You are so doable right now."  
  
Machiavelli made no comment and that was a feat; his right hand managed the operation while his left hand was engaged with the strings of his codpiece. That idea was sublime, Cesare followed his cue. Micheletto was letting out some adorable -and pained- sounds once in a while, but his face shouted to the world he was in ecstasy.  
  
“Talk to me, Micheletto,” Cesare demanded, excited for those mixed signals.  
  
“The bumps, they are wonderful!”

"On second thoughts, that mouth could lead a man astray," Cesare said, his hand over Micheletto's head pushed the assassin down, "give it a better use."  
  
Micheletto's lips surrounded his master's scepter, sucking it with the fruition of a hungry kid. Machiavelli smiled at Cesare: his henchman was fully skewered on the dildo and he began to retire and re-insert it inside this quivering body as he leaned forward to kiss the Cardinal.


End file.
